Steele Mending
by RSteele82
Summary: Set during the midway point of Steele Searching, Laura finds a doctor willing to come to the flop house to care for Steele. His medical crisis provides an opportunity for Steele and Laura to start the healing of their personal relationship, damaged when she abruptly ended it once more in LA. Provides insight on the episode as well as backdrop for future stories.


_**Part 2 of the Steele Forsaken Series & Part 2 of the A Holt New Beginning Series)**_

 _ **Chronicles Remington and Laura's time spent in the flop house during Steele Searching Pt 1.**_

 _ **For the most effective reading, my work should be read in chronological order as many of my one off's are spun into the history of the characters later on down the line. The chronological order of what I've written to date are as follows:**_

 _ **The Canon Series**_

 _ **Steele Torn & Trying to Holt On**_  
 _ **Cannes Steele be Trusted (co-written with the super-talented SuzySteele)  
Steele Forsaken (Pt 1 of the Steele Forsaken Series)**_  
 _ **Steele Mending (Pt 2 of the Steele Forsaken Series)**_  
 _ **Steele Working out the Details (Pt 3 of the Steele Forsaken Series)**_  
 _ **Steele Settling In (Pt 4 of the Steele Forsaken Series)**_  
 _ **Steele Finding Comfort**_  
 _ **Steele Holting on To Christmas (Pt 1 of the Steele Holting on To the Holidays Series)**_  
 _ **Steele Holting on To The Holidays (Pt 2 of the Steele Holting on to the Holidays Series)**_  
 _ **Holting on to the Moments**_  
 _ **Steele Cold Relief**_  
 _ **Steele Cloned**_  
 _ **Steele Hurdling Obstacles**_  
 _ **Steeling the Big Apple**_  
 _ **Steele Dying to Get it Right**_  
 _ **Holting Steele (Pt 1 of the Be Steele My Heart Series)**_  
 _ **Be Steele My Heart (Pt 2 of the Be Steele My Heart Series)**_  
 _ **Steele Pursued (Pt 1 of the Holt Tight, My Love Series)**_

 _ **The AU Series**_

 _ **Steele Forsaken (Part 1 of the A Holt New Beginning Series)  
Steele Mending (Part 2 of the A Holt New Beginning Series)  
A Holt New Beginning (Part 3 of the A Holt New Beginning Series)**_

 _ **Standard Disclaimers apply: I hold no ownership or rights to the series or characters. I simply choose to borrow the characters I love to write.**_

* * *

Steele Mending

Nearly two hours had passed since Laura had left. Remington still couldn't believe she was here – not only here, but had saved him once again. So much had happened so quickly.

He'd laid in that alleyway believing that this, finally, could be it. The wounds from the fence posts that gored his stomach wouldn't stop bleeding and his abdomen felt as though someone had set it afire. It had become increasingly difficult to remain conscious, to hold a coherent thought. He was quite certain delirium was setting in, as he imagined Laura was there with him.

He had thought for certain, when he heard the members of Scotland Yard arrive that his goose was cooked. He had no idea why the Yard was hunting him, but they were, vigilantly. Even in good health it had been a challenge evading them while trying to track down Chalkie and instinct told him that it was Chalkie who'd let the constabulary right to where he lay, barely conscious.

When Laura had first seen him, hanging off the rope from the rafters, he had breathed a sigh of relief. Like every time in the past, when he was in trouble, she had found him. For that instant when he thought she was going to turn him over to the Yard, his heart had dropped to his feet. It occurred to him, that perhaps the two months since he'd called and refused to speak had been the final straw. Yet, that made little sense in context of what she'd said during that first encounter in the alleyway.

* * *

 _ **"I flew six thousand miles to see you."**_

* * *

That flash of doubt bespoke of the fragility of their relationship, their friendship, after the events in LA four months before and the intervening months since he'd left. But by the time she'd released the rope and lowered him down, he'd already swept that doubt, the fear away. _This is, Laura, for bloody sake,_ he reminded himself. They hadn't even had to speak a word, as she'd grabbed his arm, holding it over her shoulder, lending him support as they fled.

Ah, she had laid into him but good when they had arrived at the tenement house. She was furious with him for leaving her. As she had given him the wherewithal the only thoughts he could hold in his mind were how beautiful she was and how much he had missed her.

It had been four months since he'd last seen her. He'd dreamt about her nightly since he'd been gone, the dreams comforting and yet wretchedly painful at the same time. Her voice had been a constant in his head these last two months, guiding him on the journey to discover who his father was. It had become increasingly difficult, however, as weeks waned to months to remember the taste of her lips, the smell of her hair, the touch of her hands. He had thought often of abandoning the search for himself and returning to LA, ready to test the waters and discover precisely what she'd meant that night she'd whispered…

* * *

" _ **Come home."**_

* * *

Oh, it had been tempting on many an occasion to return to LA, to her. Yet, he'd determinedly stayed the course, intent on giving her a piece of himself that no one had ever had. To give her something that would prove his commitment to her.

Instead, she'd come to find him. Found him in a manner he never wanted her to see him in: filthy, injured and on the run.

He sighed, then glancing at his watch, pushed himself from the bed, unable to stop the guttural groan when he stood, pulling on the wound. Likely not the wisest of decisions he knew, but the desire to shed his body of the filth that had clung to it for more than a week, usurped logic. Using the walls for support he made it to the loo down the hall, and somehow managed to strip down to stand under the shower. By the time he had pulled back on his briefs and pants, grimacing at his lack of clean clothes, he wasn't sure if he could make it back to his room under his own power. By sheer will he made the journey, tossing his shirts over a chair, then collapsing upon the bed, passing out.

* * *

Laura paced outside of the free clinic waiting for the doctor on duty to exit. Glancing at her watch she saw it was nearly 9:30. The clinic had closed nearly a half hour ago yet, still, here she paced, waiting. She prayed she'd not missed him when she had ducked into a nearby store to purchase clothing, clean towels, wash cloths, sheets, blankets and pillows before making a quick run into the convenience door next door to make to buy juice. She'd scurried back to the clinic as soon as the purchases were made, arriving twenty minutes prior to close.

"Come on, come on, come on," she muttered out loud.

Her worse fear had come true – that he'd be injured while on the lam and she might not be able to reach him in time, wherever he was in the world. _But I did make it,_ she reminded herself. _He'll be fine,_ she tried to convince herself.

The punctures in his stomach ran deep. Despite her efforts to staunch the blood, the jagged wounds were still seeping when she'd left him. When she'd kissed him on the forehead before leaving, she could already feel a fever brewing.

She'd come too far to find him, to bring him home, only to lose him now.

"Please, please hurry," she said aloud again.

Four months, it had taken her four months to find him. Four months of agony, wondering where he was, was he safe. Four months of dreaming about him. Four months of trying to understand why she'd done what she'd done. Four months of trying to understand why _this time_ he'd left.

When he'd laid there tonight and told her that he'd needed to find himself, to bring her a name to prove he was committed to her, it had opened up raw wounds that had taken great effort to suture. He'd confirmed, unknowingly, her dreams from all those months: he had left in large part because she had badgered him for years about a name, making it nearly conditional for their relationship to move ahead or even to exist at all.

It had taken him leaving her to make her realize that there was much more than a name she needed from him.

His presence to start with. Nothing was the same since he'd left. There was no anticipation of hearing his voice for the first time each day, no nights before the fire to look forward to. She missed the feel of his fingers running along her neck, through her hair. She missed the taste of him, how gently he held her in his arms. His smell – she slept many a night in his bed capturing it, finding comfort in it. But most of all, she missed his voice. She hadn't realized how often they talked each day – at work, in the evenings when they spent time together, and every night, the conversations they had by phone before they went to bed. It was her comfort, not matter how angry she was at him. Somehow, over the years, it had become her center.

Laura jumped when the doctor came out of the doorway then turned to lock it.

Touching his arm softly, she said, "I need your help, please. I'm a private detective from Los Angeles," she told him, pulling out her ID and displaying it. "I'm here on a case with my boss, Remington Steele. He's been injured… badly. He needs help. I can pay you."

The doctor wouldn't be able to say later why he trusted her instinctively. Why he didn't tell her he doesn't make house calls and recommend she take her boss to the local hospital. If pressed, he would have probably said it was a combination of the earnest honesty and fear that he saw in her eyes.

"How was he injured?"

"He was going over a fence, trying to catch the suspect, and impaled himself on it. The wounds are… deep, won't stop bleeding, despite all that I've tried." She pinched the bridge of her nose, the fear reflected in her eyes deepening. "He's developed a fever…"

The doctor turned and unlocked the clinic, ushering her inside.

"A minute, please," he told her as he went to the back of the clinic to fetch the supplies he might need. Returning after several minutes, he led Laura back outside, locking the clinic once more.

"Show me where he is," the doctor told her and Laura led the way.

* * *

Remington heard the rattle of the door knob and every instinct told him to run, to get out, _fast_. He tried to get to his feet and found that he couldn't. He resigned himself to his imminent arrest when the door opened and Laura stood there. Relief ascended as heavy lids forced his eyes closed. She moved to his side quickly, putting her hand against his cheek.

"Oh my God, you're burning up," she told him, then edged towards panic when she saw the wounds were bleeding profusely again. It was only when she remembered that she had brought the doctor with her that she felt her pulse slow down and the fear lessen. She took in his appearance, the lack of eau de garbage that had covered him not two hours before.

"You showered?" she asked, her irritation clearly showing in her voice. She traced the route to the loo in her head. Her eyes narrowed on him. "Should I ask how you even made it to there?"

He forced his eyes partially open, regarding through his lashes. "The wall proved an obliging and blessedly understanding escort," he managed to say. Before she could stop herself, her lips twitched, and she let out a mono-syllable laugh. To see he was still able to banter proved as warming as a cashmere sweater on a cool winter's day. She forced herself to give him another frown of consternation.

"What were you thinking? You're wounded, infection's setting in. You could have passed out at any point. What would you have done then? Did you even think about that?" she ground out. He cast her an exasperated look with weary eyes.

"Do you think we could adjourn a full listing of my various and sundry offenses until after…" Throat parched, the effort to speak past it caused him to cough. He moaned deeply, instinctively rolling to his side and trying to draw his legs up, only to give a sharp gasp at the hot poker that stabbed him in the gut at the movement. At the sight of him in pain, compassion quickly replaced anger.

"I'll get you a glass of water," she offered. Unthinking, he grabbed at her hand as she turned away.

"No, stay." He gave his head a shake at the need he heard in his voice, then averted his eyes, embarrassed. She'd taken notice of his discomfort, but chose to pretend she hadn't. Moving to the other side of the bed, she sat down next to him and took his hand in hers.

The doctor had been diligently arranging his instruments on a cloth laid on the bed near Remington's legs. As she watched, she realized she'd never asked after his name. Apologizing for her rudeness, she inquired after it.

"Cavanaugh," he told her moving over to the bed and sitting on Remington's other side. "Now let's see what we have here. We're going to need fresh water and a clean rag."

She nodded and slid off the bed to retrieve the bag of goods she had just purchased, extracting several washcloths from it. After setting them on the table, she grabbed the bowl she had washed his wounds with earlier and left the room to rinse it out and refill it. As the water filled the bowl, she cringed, hearing Remington cry out down the hall.

By the time she'd returned, the doctor had been able to fully assess his condition.

"It's not good," he told her. "The puncture wounds are fairly deep, although the good news is it doesn't appear any organs have been affected. But infection has already set in. The wounds will need debridement, packing. Stitches won't be an option, so there will be scars after he heals. The packing will need to be tended to multiple times a day – an inch pulled out and cut about every six hours. And, he's going to need a hefty dose of antibiotics to fight the infection."

"Do whatever needs to be done. I'll stay with him as long as necessary."

Cavanaugh nodded. Pulling two vials and syringes out of his bag, he skillfully drew the medications into the syringes. "Morphine," he told her holding up the first needle. "I prefer intravenous, but given the circumstances, intramuscular will have to do. The best place for that is in the bum. You're going to have to lend a hand in this – drop his trousers just enough, then roll him towards you, if you will."

She nodded, and without thought unbuckled Remington's pants then unzipped them before getting up on her knees on the bed and wrapping her arms around his shoulder and waist, pulled him towards her, leaning his body against her legs. Nearly unconscious, she moaned deeply at the pain caused by the movement, making her grimace. Once the doctor injected him, she laid him back down then reached to redo his pants.

"Lidocaine," Cavanaugh told her, holding up the second syringe. "I'm going to inject it around the wounds to help numb them, but the infection will prevent it from being very effective. It's not going to be easy on him."

She closed her eyes and nodded. "Just do what you have to do."

As the needle entered his abdomen near the wound, Remington jolted out of semi-unconsciousness, and attempted to knock the needle away from the doctor's hands. Cavanaugh had been expecting such a reaction and calmly pulled the needle out.

The doctor glanced at Laura then his patient. "It's likely only to get more painful as we go along. You're going to have to stay as still as possible, Mr. Steele. Miss…?"

"Holt," she supplied.

"Miss Holt, you're going to need to keep him as still as possible."

She nodded, then touching Remington's cheek had him turn and look at her, while she brushed back a lock of hair from his brow. "You and me, together, okay?" she asked softly, as she reached out and took one of his hands in each of hers.

He nodded in reply, linking her fingers through his, grimacing as the needle punctured his abdomen again. By the time of the sixth and final injection, he was sweating profusely from both the pain and the effort it took not to shove the needle forcibly away.

"Miss Holt, if you'll clean the area as best you can while I get ready for the next step, I'd appreciate it."

She let go of Remington's hands, and stood to do as bade. She paused, then leaned down to press a kiss against his brow. His hand reached up, and putting his fingers behind her neck, pressed her head forward until their foreheads touched. Their eyes, met, held, until, exhausted, his arm fell to the bed. Stepping away to gather clean wash cloths and the bowl of water she returned to his side and started cleaning the blood, old and fresh, from his abdomen. Once finished, she put the bowl on the dresser and tossed the wash cloth in the garbage.

Cavanaugh moved the chair next to the bed, setting a tray with several instruments and rolls of string-like gauze on it. Glancing at Laura, he told her, "Debridement and cleaning are next. It won't be easy on him.

Closing her eyes, she steeled herself for what was to come, then opening them nodded at Cavanaugh. She paused, and with a slight shake of her head, requested a minute from the doctor. He nodded in understanding. Returning to the other side of the bed, she contemplated the options. With a nod of her head and firming her lips in determination, she climbed onto the bed again and maneuvered herself to Remington's side. Laying her hand on his cheek so he would look at her, she told him "I need you to move down a little. Just a little." He nodded and carefully scooted down several inches, panting with the effort, although the morphine had begun taking some of the edge off the pain. "Can you lift your head up?"

He nodded again and pushed himself up on his elbows, arms shaking, his skin blanching. She quickly climbed behind him, then laying her hands on his chest, drew his head and shoulders down into her lap.

"Put your arms on your chest," she told him. He flashed her a queer look, but obediently crossed his arms over his chest as she'd directed. She laid her arms across his, then tangled their fingers, locking their hands together.

"Okay?"

He stared up at her, silently thanking her. "Okay." The gratitude showing in those blue eyes of his, shook her to the core. She tore her eyes from his, not easily, then nodded at Cavanaugh that he could start.

For the better part of half of an hour, the couple was pitched into agony: physical, bone-jarring agony for him as his wounds were debrided then antiseptic poured across them; emotional anguish for her, as he writhed against her lap, groaned, sucked in harsh breaths and on occasion screamed. By the time Cavanaugh set down the antiseptic proclaiming he'd done what he could, Remington lay sweating, panting and holding onto her as though she were his lifeline, while Laura was left blinking her eyes, determinedly trying to force back the tears.

"What now, Dr. Cavanaugh?" she asked, wondering how much more Remington could possibly take. Her words drew his attention from her to the doctor.

"Just packing of the wounds left. This won't be nearly as bad as the first two steps. He'll feel a lot of pressure. It will be uncomfortable, but it shouldn't be painful."

She pulled her hand away from Remington's and laid it on his cheek. She could feel the heat coming off her body onto her legs, and wanted to confirm her suspicions. "His fever's rising."

"He'll likely run a fever for the next day or so. Those wounds were seriously infected. He's lucky he bled as much as he did or it would've been worse. I brought a couple of doses of antibiotics with me and will give you a couple of prescriptions before I leave as well." She nodded. "Mr. Steele, are you ready for the last round?" Cavanaugh asked him.

"Get it over with," he directed through clenched teeth and the doctor nodded. He took a deep breath then let it out, forcing his body to relax, then groaned deeply as Cavanaugh began shoving packing down into his first wound. Without thought, her hand began stroking his chest as she closely watched the doctor as he diligently worked. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling, battling the fatigue that was setting in, afraid if he dozed, he'd wake and find her gone. Still, dozed he must have, because it seemed only two second had passed before the doctor spoke.

"Ok, Mr. Steele. We're all done here. As I said earlier I'll be leaving two antibiotics, enough to get you through the first day, along with two prescriptions. Take two of each to start, then one each, every six hours. There are four doses of morphine in the third package. You're going to need it. A tablet every 6 hours, same as the antibiotics. I am leaving the surgical scissors here. You or Ms. Holt will need to remove the gauze patches every six hours, pull an inch of packing out, cut it and dispose of it, then redress the wounds again. You've about three feet of packing in each of the wounds, so figure you'll have to do this for the better part of the week. Make sure you keep the wounds clean, above all else."

Remington nodded that he understood.

Laura gave a gentle nudge to his shoulder, indicating he should let her up. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he allowed her to extract herself before laying back down. She walked Cavanaugh to the door, handing him several bills folded in two.

"I can't thank you enough," she told him.

"Take care of him, Miss Holt," Cavanaugh advised.

"I will, I promise."

"I've no doubt. He's a lucky man to have you."

"Thank you," she smiled, then bid him goodbye as he walked out the door. Locking the door behind him, she walked back over to the bed. Looking down at Remington she told him, "I'm going to need your help for this next part. Think you can sit in the chair for a few minutes?"

"I'll manage," he told her.

She bent down and wrapped an arm around his shoulders helping him up, then turned to help him sit down on the chair as he grimaced from the movement.

"Stay there, this will only take a second."

Stripping the bed bare, she threw the linens in the corner of the room, then grabbed the bag of the purchases she'd made. Pulling out the mattress cover, she quickly hooked it around the corners, followed by the bottom sheet, top sheet, two blankets and finished up by shoving the two pillows in cases and tossing them on the bed. By the time she was finished, he was breathing heavily from the exertion of sitting. She contemplated what remained in the bag, but knew her fastidious Mr. Steele would likely relish a couple more minutes of discomfort for what was contained within the bag.

"I thought you might like… want…" she stumbled, before shoving the lounge pants and package of briefs towards his chest. He took them from her, gratitude once more reflected in his eyes. Full of nervous energy now, she grabbed the basin of water, then turned to leave the room. His hand reached out and grabbed hers.

"Where are you going?"

"Just to empty the water. I'll be right back."

Laura grabbed the bowl, and returned to the loo. Rinsing the bowl for the second time that night, she let the water run over it for a couple of minutes, while she leaned on her arms against the counter, hanging her head down. She was exhausted and had had to fight to keep it together while he'd been put through the agonizing treatment of his wounds. Taking a deep breath, she pulled back her shoulders, determined to stay strong.

The sight of his blood all over her pants, where his abdomen had laid against them as she held him while the morphine was injected, was nearly her undoing. She stripped the pants off nearly ferociously then tossed them under the running water of the sink. Grabbing the bar of soap, she scrubbed zealously at her pants until all the blood was removed. Remembering the blood on the shoulder of her suit, she stripped it off as well, scrubbing it clean. She realized too late that she had nothing to put on in place of them. Shrugging, she grabbed the fresh bowl of water and returned to the room, locking the door behind her.

He was tucked under the covers, nearly asleep. His eyes flicked towards the doorway to assure that it was Laura returning and he nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of her attire or lack thereof. He shoved himself up on an elbow, hands twitching and sucking in a breath at the pain of the motion.

"Laura, what the bloody hell were you thinking?" he demanded to know. "You can't walk through a place like this… like… like… like _that_."

"I was thinking I'm too tired to care, and the sight of your blood all over my pants and jacket was more than I could handle at the moment," she answered defiantly.

Dropping the bowl of water back on the dresser, she grabbed the two glasses and apple juice from the bag, then shoved the empty bag into the waste can. Picking up the packets of antibiotics, she took two pills from each. After filling a glass half way with the juice, she walked over to the bed and sat down next to him. Leaning down, she ran an arm behind him, helping him to a sitting position, then handed him the glass and the pills.

"Bottoms up," she told him.

Sensing she was at the end of her rope, he wisely recognized now was not the time to remind her he hated apple juice, and tossing the pills in his mouth, swallowed them with the offensive drink. She took the cup and sat it on the nearby dresser, as he laid himself back down. Pressing a hand to his forehead, she pursed her lips with concern, then walked back across the room to grab the bowl of water and a fresh washcloth. Returning, she put the bowl on the chair next to the bed, dipped the washcloth in it, and rung it out. Sitting down next to him, she laid it on his forehead. He closed his eyes at her touch.

"Get some sleep," she told him. He nodded his head, having little choice in the matter between being exhausted by the injury and the morphine making him a slave to its demands. For some time after he dozed off, she continued to apply the compresses until, at last, it appeared his fever had gone down. Standing, she walked across the room and flipped off the light switch, then crossed in the darkness to the other side of the bed. Reaching under her shirt at the back, she unsnapped her bra. Pulling the straps through the sleeves of her shirt, she tossed it on top of the bed before pulling back the sheet and blankets and crawling in.

She lay motionless near the edge of the bed as need and common sense warred with one another. With a sigh, she gave in to need. Scooting across the bed, she curled into Remington's side, her head on his shoulder and her bent knee on top of his thigh. She resisted to urge to laugh at the recognition that this, the first time they would sleep together was happening thoroughly without his knowledge not that she thought for a moment he'd object if awake. More likely he'd be appalled to learn that he slept, quite literally, straight through one of his most fervent dreams coming true. Reaching behind her, she grabbed his hand and wrapped it around her.

She froze, momentarily, as he stirred, looking down at her with bleary, sleep drugged eyes.

"Laura," he mumbled, tightening his arm around her, before he lost the battle to sleep and closed his eyes again.

With a sigh, she laid her arm across his chest, placing a hand over top of his heart. The steady thump of its beat under her hand assured he was safe, here, and with a deep sigh of relief after the taxing night, she fell asleep.

* * *

The first thought to occur to Remington when he woke some hours later was that he was cold, damned cold. The second thought was that the pain in his abdomen was excruciating. Moaning, he tried to shift his body, which is when his third and final thought occurred to him: Laura was curled up around him, sound asleep.

Cold and pain momentarily forgotten, he shifted slightly so he could look down at her. The room was dark, but light trickled in through the window from a lamp post on the street allowing him to clearly see her form. For years he'd dreamt of waking with her in his arms, her head nestled against his shoulder, her body slung across him as she was now. That the dream should come true under these circumstances somehow seemed apropos given their convoluted romance to date. Not for the first time, he acknowledged it was curious how dreams come true.

He closed his eyes and tried to commit to memory the weight of her body against his, the feel of her breathe as it tickled the hair on his chest, and the feel of her small hand laying over top of his heart. Years before he'd recognized that simply holding Laura in his arms was the most intimate act he had known in his life. This moment only heightened that awareness, as he'd often wondered in recent months if he would ever find her in his embrace again. The fact that she had chosen to sleep not only in the bed but in his arms was … humbling.

Ignoring the chills that had begun wracking his body, he reached across himself with his free hand, to flip her hair off her face. He laid his hand on her cheek and unable to help himself ran his thumb across her lips, fighting the urge to lean over and taste them.

 _As though I could_ , he thought to himself, with no little disappointment.

The chills were causing his muscles to contract and in turn that was putting pressure on his wounds. He was fighting the urge to groan, each time the wounds were pulled on. But his desire to hold her close as long as he could was more than enough incentive to fight against it. What he could not fight was the urge to lean down and lay his lips against her forehead. This time when the chills shot through him, he was unable to prevent the moan of pain and he watched as her eyes flew open. She felt the heat emanating from his body under her immediately. Shoving herself up to a sitting position, with a check of hand against brow, she bounded out of bed.

"Oh my God, you're burning up."

He felt the cool morning air touch his side where her body had laid just moments before and closed his eyes with regret. His eyes opened again when she flipped the light on and he watched her scramble around the room. Dumping the contents of her purse on the dresser, she found the bottle of Tylenol and opening it dumped several capsules into her hand. Grabbing the envelopes of pills Cavanaugh had left for him, she added the antibiotics and morphine to the mix. She sat down on the bed next to him, and picked up the partial cup of apple juice off the floor and handed it to him.

"Can you sit up?" she asked him.

He nodded, then with a sharp intake of breath, pushed himself up on an elbow. Taking the pills from her hand, he popped them into his mouth, then cringing took the glass of apple juice from her and washed the pills down. He lowered himself back down slowly.

"Ah, I feel like bloody hell," he told her, as his teeth began to chatter.

"I know you do." Her eyes were soft with concern, as she reached out and pushed the hair off his brow gently. Turning to the bowl on the chair beside her, she grabbed the washcloth and wrung it out, before running it across his brow. She growled with frustration, as she watched his body tighten when another round of chills ran through it. "What we need is to get you in a tepid bath, but we can't do that with your wounds. I don't know what to do." Wringing out the washrag again, she ran it across his neck and the top of his chest.

"You're doing fine. I'll be fine," he assured her as his body shook again.

"Maybe we need to consider taking you to the hospital…"

"No!" he interrupted sharply, shoving himself up and grasping at his stomach, lay down again as he groaned. "No hospital." She bit down on her lip. Wringing out the rag again, she placed it back on his forehead.

"I've got to trim the packing and change the dressing on your wound," she told him, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Laura, no hospital. _Promise me._ If I go to the hospital, Scotland Yard will find me," he pleaded, his voice edged with panic.

"The Yard is looking for Remington Steele, not any of your… former… identities," she tried to assure him.

"And when a cursory check of my prints reveals… other things? I'll be tossed in the pokey and likely spend years behind bars!"

Her eyes flared at him. "Better there than in the ground somewhere if I can't get your fever under control or if your wound is infected again!" she snapped.

"Laura, _please_ …" She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Opening her eyes back up, she looked at the naked fear on his face. Reaching out, she put her hand on his cheek.

"If the wound is no worse, we'll go from there, ok?" she told him softly, relief engulfing her as he nodded his agreement.

Grabbing the scissors and fresh bandages from the dresser, she returned to his side. He flinched as she peeled back the bandages, the tape catching on his hair and pulling on the area around the wound. Lifting the dressing off, her fears were assuaged, at least marginally, when the wound appeared better than it had only six hours before. Sensing him watching her, she lifted her eyes to his and smiled. He nodded his head and closed his eyes, before another round of chills took over. She quickly trimmed an inch of packing out of each wound, then taped back down the dressing. Rising from the bed, she put the scissors back on the dresser and tossed the packing into the garbage before sitting back down and rewetting the washcloth.

He pushed the washcloth away. "Laura, we both know that isn't doing any good. Let the medicine take effect and come back to bed. We're both exhausted."

She looked at him uncertainly. Shaking her head, she acknowledged to herself that he was right. The washcloth would have little effect on his fever and a bath was out of the question. Standing up she walked across the room and flipped back off the light. Standing next to her side of the bed, she battled with indecision. The choice to curl up with him when he had been asleep had been an easy one. Now, though, with him wide awake it seemed presumptuous and perhaps a little reckless. Somewhat reluctantly she laid down on her side of the bed and pulled up the covers. He waited in silence several minutes, then reached over and brushed her fingers with his.

"Come here, Laura," he implored quietly.

It was all the incentive she needed, and she slid across the bed to tuck herself against him again. His arm wrapped around her and held her tight to him as she felt his body tremor again. She leaned up on her elbow and looked at him in the dim light.

"I'm worried."

"Don't be. I've been worse off, and came out on the other side just fine." She dropped her head down, her forehead leaning against his shoulder.

"I can't lose you," she whispered against his chest, so quietly he'd nearly missed it. "Not now." He lifted her chin with the press of a single finger underneath, waiting until she raised her eyes to his.

"You won't." She nodded, then lay back down, running her hand up and down the side of his ribs, trying to get him to relax as another round of chills struck and his body tightened up against the impending pain. "Try to relax. Fighting it is only going to make it more painful."

Glancing down at her his eyes caught hers, then flicked to her hand where it was still rubbing up and down his ribs. "You keep that up, and the tension is only bound to increase," he joked.

He watched her eyes widen before she yanked her hand back. Chuckling, he captured her fleeing hand in his and brought it up to his mouth, kissing her fingers.

"Just having a little fun with you, Miss Holt," he soothed. "Please, keep going. It's a nice distraction from the rest of it."

She hesitated then ran her hands back down his side, needing to touch him as much as he needed to be touched. His hand reached up and began stroking her hair. They lay silently, needing no conversation, just taking time to appreciate being with each other again after a lengthy absence.

She felt his hand still on her hair, before his arm dropped to his chest – asleep, finally. She leaned up on an elbow and like her mother used to do to her as a child, lightly laid her lips on his forehead to gauge his temperature. His skin was cool and damp, the fever having finally broken. She let go of the breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding. He'd come through this crisis, and now she could finally turn to sleep. Kissing him on the cheek, she moved to lay down when she felt his fingers wrap around the back of her neck and he gently pulled her towards him. Looking up, her eyes caught his and held. His hand slid across her neck until it his hand cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing back and forth on the underside of her chin.

"I missed you, Laura. _Each and every day_ , I missed you," he confessed in a whisper. She closed her eyes, feeling part of the hurt that she had been carrying for four months slip away. She leaned down so their foreheads touched while her hand left his chest to lie against his cheek.

"I missed you too… every day."

This time it was his turn to close his eyes. For four months he'd believed he'd lost her after that fateful talk in Los Angeles, when he'd seen her board the plane after Westfield. Her admission gave him hope that maybe they could find their way back to one another. His hand shifted slightly, his thumb moving to run across her bottom lip, exploring its texture and shape, as his eyes locked on them, transfixed. The need to taste her again made him ache, but he made no move to touch his lips to hers. He'd lost the right to kiss her at will four months before.

Moving his hand to pick up a lock of her hair and run it between his fingers, remembering the silky texture that had so often drove him to sink his hands into it, his head shifted and he sought out her eyes again. When he discovered her own gaze locked on his lips, his resolve not to initiate lip-to-lip contact evaporated. Moving his hand back to cup her neck again, he drew her down to him.

Their lips had barely grazed when both pulled back to search each other's eyes, and seeing their own need reflected in the other, their eyes held as their lips met again more firmly. Remington let out the breath he'd not been aware he was holding and closed his eyes, as their lips moved in small increments against one another, exploring slowly after too long an absence.

With each touch of their lips, Laura felt the loneliness and grief that had been filling her days the last four months slipping away. She sighed with pleasure, relief, when she felt his tongue flicker over her lips for the barest of tastes. She opened her mouth to him, and moaned quietly when his tongue skimmed across the back of her teeth before finding her tongue and brushing against it. Of its own volition, her hand ran up his side and onto his chest, as her fingers explored the sensation of the silky hair there and the warm flesh underneath.

He plundered briefly before his lips returned to gently caressing hers, losing himself in her texture, in her taste, in the feelings of her small hand, as her fingers explored his chest. It was a sensation he'd longed to know since that first meeting at the Agency, as he'd masqueraded as Ben Pearson. He found the reality of her touch far out measured the fantasy. Goosebumps trailed down the length of his arms as every nerve in his body sparked to life. That the first time she would touch him would be in a flop house, in London, while injured and on the run from the Yard? _Of course it is, how could we expect anything less._

She lost herself in his rich, spicy taste, even as she slowly explored the soft hair covering his lean chest. For years, she daydreamed about doing exactly this. Each time he'd unbutton to collar of his shirt, allowing her a peek her fingers had fairly twitched with the desire to play. She'd longed suspected he'd known precisely what seeing the swatch of hair showing between the fabric did to her, and had done so with purpose. That it was finally available for her to explore at will? She squelched the urge to squirm with delight.

His hands skimmed down her back, the sensation of those long graceful fingers gliding over the silk made her shiver even as she gasped against his lips. She felt his lips lift in a smile, before they settled over hers again. _Smug bastard,_ she thought to herself, a smirk lifting her lips under his this time. She lightly scraped her fingernails across his chest, felt the rumble as he moaned lightly, then circled a nipple with her finger. His entire body twitched. _You forget, Mr. Steele. I can give as good as I get._

He felt the muscles of her back dancing and contracting under his fingers when they brushed over them. Of its own volition, one of his hands dared to drift lower, over her underwear clad bottom, discovering its firm contours. Losing the battle, she hummed in delicious response to the sparks left in the wake of his touch. When two hands settled there, cupping a cheek each, she willingly allowed him to lift her body up to recline on top of his.

His quick intake of breath and moan of pain, as his entire body pressed back against the bed from her weight on his abdomen, had the effect of ice water and she bolted out of his arms, to kneel quickly at his side. She quickly peeled back the tape on his dressing, wringing another moan from him as tape pulled at the hair around his wound.

"I'm sorry. I need to make sure we haven't caused your wounds to start bleeding again. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. God, what was I thinking?"

"Stop apologizing," he said, on short breaths. "It was worth it."

"Not if we've done more damage, it wasn't."

Gently probing around the wounds, she found they'd not opened back up and sagged with relief. Replacing the bandages, she fell back against the bed on her back, near him but no longer touching him. After several minutes of unbearable waiting, his hand slid between the bed and her back, then – his hand gripping her side - pulled her back next to him. She stiffened briefly beside him, until he whispered, "Sleep, Laura, just sleep. I just…" he stumbled, afraid her defenses would go up if he voiced his need. Giving himself a mental shake, he decided to risk it. "I just want to keep you close."

She relaxed into his body at his words and laid her head back against his chest as his arm pulled her more tightly against him. The day's events had left her suddenly exhausted, and the minute she reclined against him she found herself battling sleep. Running her hand across his chest to lay her hand over his heart, the gentle thumping under her hand comforting her, she yawned deeply.

Remington leaned down and kissed the top of her head, as his free hand settled over top of the hand covering his heart.

"Get some sleep, Miss Holt." She nodded her head, closed her eyes and was gone, he following after her only a few brief minutes later.

* * *

Remington woke to the sound of the door closing and immediately thought Laura had left without a word. He was pleasantly surprised to see her carrying three bags and a tray bearing two Styrofoam cups into the room and setting them on top of the dresser. When she'd managed to slip out, unheard, he'd no idea.

Opening the small white paper bag, she pulled out three amber colored bottles from the pharmacy. Dumping a pill from each of the bottles in her hand, she grabbed one of the Styrofoam cups and moved to sit on the bed next to him. He held out his hand for the pills, popping them in his mouth before pulling the lid off the cup and taking a swig of warm tea.

He closed his eyes and savored the taste. She knew precisely how she liked it. "Thank you," he told her quietly.

"You're welcome," she smiled, then took the cup of tea away and set it on the floor. "Lay back and let's get you taken care of."

He wagged his brows at her, earning himself a swat, then did as she bid. In short order, she'd cut the prescribed amount of packing, disposed of it and redressed the wound. Standing, she grabbed the second bag she'd brought back with her before moving to sit on the bed next to him. She pulled two Styrofoam boxes out of the bag and handed one to him. Popping it open his mouth began to water instantly seeing the bacon, sausage, eggs, fried potatoes and toast, along with a packet of jam.

"Miss Holt, my commendation. You continue to flawlessly execute the perfect cure," he jested, as he dug into his food.

Laura quirked a smile as she took a bite of her own breakfast and bantered back, "Well, you know what they say about a man…" He quirked a brow questioningly, while taking another bite. "… The way to his heart is through his stomach."

"Well that certainly flies in the face of 'a man cannot live by bread alone.' As wonderful as this meal is, I must say that I found Dr. Holt's prior prescription much more satisfying."

"And which prescription was that, Mr. Steele?" she asked coyly.

"Something like this," he told her, then leaned forward to capture her lips with his own.

At his words and with his kiss, Laura was swept back in time to when she'd not only said the same three words to him, but had followed them with an impulsive kiss that had swept them both away two and a half years before as they stood in the cellar of St. Costello's monastery.

* * *

 _ **"Do you think there's any danger in feeling too much too soon?" she had asked him.**_

 _ **"It all depends on what you're feeling."**_

 _ **"Something like this," Laura had told him, then kissed him.**_

 _ **The kiss had turned hot and steamy at once. When he pulled away from her, he informed her somewhat breathlessly "I don't think that's safe at all."**_

 _ **"So I'll live dangerously," she had told him, bringing her lips back to his.**_

 _ **He had kissed her thoroughly, at length, his desire matching her own.**_

* * *

Pulling back now, she echoed his words from that time, "I don't think that's safe at all."

"Ah, Miss Holt," a thumb caressed her cheek, "think you have one up on me in this, eh? I believe my line is now 'So, I'll live dangerously,'" he smiled, moving their food aside, his eyes on her lips. "And I think I will," he whispered before reclaiming her lips.

As the kiss deepened, Laura's hand snaked around his neck, playing with the hair at the base of it. Unable to resist, he wrapped an arm around her back and slowly lowered her to the bed, her upper body beneath his. A second arm joined the first, pressing her body closer to his.

"Good God, I've missed you," he murmured, against her lips.

Laura, kissed senseless, ran her hands across his shoulders, down his arms then moved to his back, alternating between feathering her fingers across his back and kneading it. She was drowning in the sensations they were creating in each other. His mouth left hers and trailed down the side of her face to her neck, raining kisses on it, before his head dipped to suck gently on the area between the base of her neck and her shoulder. She gasped, and her body arched into his as her hands grabbed his shoulders.

A knock on the door launched her out of his arms. Remington took several deep breaths trying to bring his body back under control. By the time she opened the door, he had propped himself back up on the bed and pulled his container of food onto his lap, disguising the effect she'd had on him.

The landlady stood at the door.

"Check out's at 11. If you be needing another night, that's another ten quid."

Laura walked over to the dresser and withdrawing her wallet pulled out twenty quid, handing it to the woman.

"That's two nights there. You can keep anything we don't use when we check out."

The woman took the money, while trying to crane her neck to look into the room. Laura thanked her, then closed the door in her face.

She returned to sit next to him, her hip brushing against his.

"I've got to go back to the hotel to shower and change. I may not make it back tonight from seeing the Earl, but I promise I'll be here the moment I finish."

He hummed in acknowledgment, his disappointment that she was leaving him visible, but in typical fashion he made no mention of it.

"There's drinks, fruits, snacks and such in the other bag. I arranged for the place I picked up breakfast at to drop you off meals until I get back." She turned to face him, frustration and concern expressed in the strain around her eyes. "Promise me," she forced out.

"I'm not going anywhere, Laura," he told her sincerely. Her eyes rested on him, even as a hand flicked towards him.

"Promise me," she repeated.

"I promise."

She closed her eyes, then stood. She began to walk to the door then turned back around. Walking back over to the bed, she brushed the unruly lock of hair back, then leaned down to press her lips against his forehead. As she pulled back, he wrapped three fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her head down until they were eye-to-eye.

"I'm not going anywhere, Laura." His bright blue eyes were as earnest as his words.

She laid her forehead against his and nodded. She still forgot sometimes how easily he could read her, how well he knew her. She leaned down and kissed him, then turned and left without looking back.

(TBC. For the Canon Series: Steele Settling In; For the AU Series: A Holt New Beginning)


End file.
